Where You Headed?
by JacklynK
Summary: Blindfolded, gagged, cuffed to a support beam of the crashed HunterGratzner, but nothing could stop the dark figure from hearing. Carolyn... His eyes closed against it, but the memory took him anyway. [abandoned]
1. I

The story's a little fluffy, I know, but I promise it will get more hardcore later on. But I don't think Riddick was always so harsh, I believe he had a heart once. The girl's name is actually coincidence, I swear. This began as an independent story, and she named herself forever ago, I coulnd't just change it now. So enjoy and review! Don't worry about sugarcoating or anything, I love to hear how I can improve.

btw, although much of this is my own, Riddick himself is not. Although it would be rather interesting if he was.

- -

The girl was sitting outside of a second-rate ice cream shop just outside the respectable part of the city. She had been walking the back roads and alleyways and hadn't intended to stop, but the tables had caught her eye. The seats weren't connected to the concrete, instead they were held to the table by bent horizontal bars that all around the table formed a _swastika._ She had decided at the spur of the moment that she just had to sit in one, eating ice cream like she hadn't noticed. It seems like a sick interest, and I suppose it probably was, but that wasn't the point. It was funny, and she wanted to be part of it. The ice cream had drawn her attention to her quickly depleting stash of credits, but she decided that wasn't really the point, either.

So she was eating ice cream and entertaining herself with a slightly nonsensical fantasy about living on Old Earth back when it was habitable when the most amazing pair of boots came into view, closely followed by a pair of black cargo pants. Now, normally this wouldn't be such an amazingly cool thing to see. But the events following these shoes made it important.

The figure in the boots had completed his turn around the corner, and he seemed about to pass on when he noticed a girl sitting at a table at the ice cream shop. Girls were everywhere, of course, and rarely of any consequence, but this was different somehow. She had a mane of black curly hair and bright almond eyes; the innocence in them was plain to see even from the street. Then he saw that she was staring at him.

Now here is a remarkable scene: a girl in delicate jeans and somehow revealing but innocent tank top, holding a forgotten ice cream, staring. And a boy in war gear dyed to black staring back, standing awkwardly on the sidewalk. Mind you, only he thought himself awkward. Nothing of this young man spoke of awkwardness; between the altered military fatigues, aggressive build, and what looked suspiciously like weapons stashed absolutely everywhere, he was instantly pegged by most to be a thug. Mind you also that not everyone involved here is still among the living. Which makes the whole scene looking back that much more interesting, don't you think?

But the world has no time for speculation. The world moved on, and the moment ended. The boy turned and continued walking, and the girl sat at the table. Before she even knew what was happening, she was moving. She had to know. Something that beautiful needs a name, if only to enter in a diary when the day ends. This was her only thought, despite how it sounds. Hitting on people in the street had never crossed this girl's mind in her life. But he was unique, and she wanted to know his name. She ran after the boy in black boots.

"What's your name?" she asked. Her face was flushed from running, and seemed… open, like the kind of little kid that gets kidnapped for assuming everyone is nice.

"Richard Riddick… You?" he replied hesitantly. His voice was shockingly low, and for a second she didn't even process his actual words. His eyebrows raised at her, and she realized she had missed something.

"Oh." She hadn't thought ahead to after her question. She started looking hesitant herself, stuffing her hands into the lace-edged pockets of her jeans. He almost-smiled down at her in an exasperated way, and she noticed how tall he was. Although perhaps a bit slimmer that he would later be, he was very in proportion, plus, well, she had been looking at his feet. "Well, I'm…"

He allowed her time to collect herself. He didn't get why it would bother her so to be asked, especially considering she had asked the exact same question of him. He looked past her at the melting cup of ice cream she had abandoned, and saw a worn backpack and equally worn mail bag lying on the concrete next to her table.

"Where you headed?"

"Oh" She glanced back at her bags. "North."

"Just 'north'?" he asked.

"Yeah… You?" she replied, smiling at her imitation.

"Home." he answered curtly, and he turned and left before she could catch him with another question.

She stood there and watched him go. He seemed so alone, and almost… sad. She wondered how many people saw far past his threatening look, and it hurt somehow to think that he was alone.

"…Carolyn." the girl said softly to no one in the fading light.

_You're not giving up, are you?_ Of course I am, she thought to herself. All I wanted in the first place was his name. _Really now? _Yes. _Stop lying to yourself and follow him, Carolyn. _

She stood indecisive for a moment, then ran back to her bags. She scooped them up as fast as she could and began to run back. Someone that lonely needs a friend. And it wasn't like she had anyone herself.

Riddick heard her running behind him, but did not stop for her.

"Carolyn!" she shouted at him from a half a block away. He turned to face her, a smile forming almost against his will. So she would trust him with a name after all…

Now, a block away, he was again smiling down at her. And this time she smiled back.

"Carrie Johnson," she repeated. She put out her hand for an introductory handshake. He either didn't notice or ignored it, but he asked casually but cautiously if she was headed the same direction. Carolyn nodded, obviously not getting the implications of the question. As if her answer had decided something, he reached down to take her backpack. He slung it over his shoulder and started to turn back to continue walking. He looked at her expectantly.

"'Coming?"

Her smile burst into a grin, then a laugh. It made her sound… he couldn't find a word. He struggled mentally for it, for anything to say, but the closest he could come was the image of a prism of light made by a glass flower. He smiled at the surprisingly poetic image as much as just smiling at her. She fell into step beside him, as if she had always been there. And he put himself between her and the street.

- -

Please review! You know you want to... ;)


	2. II

Thanks for the reviews, y'all, here's the next installment. Sadly, this story won't be coming very fast, as I'm trying to improve my style by actually editing and planning. Otherwise I've found that I tend to write myself into corners that I can't get out of. So, enjoy and review! No need to sugarcoat, just tell me how you think I'm doing.

Mandatory BS: I obviously don't own Riddick, but everything else is actually mine.

- -

The boy was kind of brooding, but Carrie didn't mind so much. It was nothing she wasn't used to, and something she found easy to see through. She peeked up at his profile, he had and animalistic but honest face, dark expressive eyes, and his head was covered in light stubble. His worried scowl probably had something to do with her, because it hadn't been there before. She bet herself that he was trying to figure out what had come over him to make him interrupt his plans of going 'home'. When he had it figured out, he'd probably try to explain it to her, then trip all over himself when he figured out that she wasn't some dumb little kid. She may be spontaneous, and maybe she didn't have a normal idea of what kind of people were trustworthy, but that's not age, size, or mental capacity, is it?

After the moment passed and Riddick found himself walking down the street with some girl, sense immediately returned to him and he wondered what in nine hells he was supposed to do now. Fresh out of his latest run in prison—just assault this time, he'd had a kick-ass appointed lawyer—he had tracked down an acquaintance to crash with until he could get off-planet. He wasn't sure where he'd be going, as long as it wasn't here. It was the closest planet to the prison, and it was overrun with gangs of bastards too lazy to move from where the transport dropped off. He had decided when they paroled him; he had to find a way out of this life. He was eighteen now, an adult, and it was time for a fresh start.

He glanced down at her from the corner of his eye. She wasn't short by anyone's standards, but anyone would look that way next to him. She was delicate, though, and it made her seem smaller than she was. He wondered vaguely if she would be less carefree if she realized that she was with an armed felon. Less vaguely, though, he wondered what it was about him that called up this reaction in him, and how much of a problem Wayne would make if he kept her.

- -

- -

Carolyn was the product of one of those lazy bastard criminals. Her mother was a wonderful woman, but she died not too long ago in an accident, and Carrie had been shunted here to her father's 'care'. She didn't see why the care people thought she belonged there. He was a drunk, and never seemed to notice when his daughter fell victim to one of his friends' inebriated hands. And all she could think about was home, about the peace she and her mother had for so long and the people there that she always imagined a father would be like. Although her mom never remarried, her social life was always in the biker community, and it was there that Carrie found basis for her idea of what men should be. This was a pure roughneck planet, but despite her minority on this planet as a female, she found that there was a particular sort of men whose eyes filled with honest wrath rather than appreciation at the sight of a bruised young woman, and despite anything else about them, she would never be in danger in the company of that kind of person. You could tell by the way they moved. It's not quite explainable in words, but the signs are evident nonetheless. She called it clean violence, the sound of electric guitars tuned low and played harsh but beautiful.

And she was just like that. She looked for beauty in everything she saw, and felt it was her right and responsibility to give them the beautiful names they deserve. It wasn't long before she would have poetic expressions for every facet of the creature beside her. She was trying to pinpoint what it was right now, something about the set of his shoulders, his eyes, the knives…

Whatever, it'll come to her.

Meanwhile the silence was becoming uncomfortable. Carrie kept up what conversation she could; he sure was a man of few words. He seemed vaguely disturbed about something, and although it was clear that he cared and was actually listening, the only real reaction she got was when she asked him about himself. She wondered what it was that he didn't want her to know, but immediately chided herself. _What does it really matter, anyway? If he wants to leave you out of it, let him. It's nothing you need to know._

The girl seemed willing to talk herself, so Riddick avoided having to actually string words together where He could. It turned out she was a runaway, some fuck-up father she didn't want to talk about. He steered the conversation away from his own past, until eventually she ran out of things to say and just fell silent beside him. She kept looking at him, though, like she was studying his face. _Fuck, she's gonna figure it out eventually, why draw it out? It's only a matter of time before she figures out I'm a killer, the only question is how bad she'll react. _He avoided her eye contact. _Jesus, the great Riddick, two days out of the slam and getting intimidated by a teenage _girl_! What is wrong with me?_

_It's not intimidation, _he assured himself, _it's… I don't know, I just don't want to-_

An excited little gasp escaped the girl, and Riddick turned to find her suddenly glowing face looking up at him fervently. "Why, you're a _mastiff_!" She exclaimed, apparently extremely pleased with herself. He looked blankly at her as she preformed some kind of private little excitement-dance. After a moment she finally seemed to register that Riddick had no idea what was going on with her, and self-consciousness returned enough for her to restrain herself some.

"In Earth History," she explained eagerly as she fell back into step, "The Roman army tried to attack this little kingdom. It was a harder fight than they thought, 'cause once they got there, they found these people had spent generations breeding these absolutely _massive_ dogs that fought viciously right alongside their masters. But that wasn't what they were meant for, really: they were bred to be the perfect guardians of children. And they were, and until gene splicing and genetic acceleration they were the biggest breed of—h-hey, where are we going?"

She had been lost in her own mind so long that she hadn't noticed that they had walked all the way across town and into the northern slums. She had never really had a problem with her own home district, but that was home, that was familiar. She was comfortable there in the same way that someone can listen to music for no reason other than the fact that they've listened to it all their lives, or can live contently with a relative even though he is obviously a bad person: almost anything can really be okay once you learn its rhythms and have a niche in it. But not here… North Quadrant was where the young gangs ruled, the switchblade killers and teenage drug lords. She looked from the buildings back at Riddick, doubt showing plainly on her face and begging not to be turned into distrust. He just couldn't be, the honesty was so strong in his voice, in his walk.

"D'you expect to go north without passing through here?" he asked her with as much reasonable 'duh' as he could muster. She wanted so bad to believe him, and he found himself casting for the right words _(she's gonna find out anyway, her eyes will turn mistrusting, her peaceful scent to fear, she backs away, and oh, the betrayal in her face),_ but thankfully she interrupted him.

"Yeah, I guess I wasn't thinking ahead like that." A self-scorning smile crossed her face. "Again." A few steps passed, and some small realization flashed in her, flagged by her already familiar 'oh, I get it!' face. He watched, fascinated, her swift open play of emotions, as almost immediately after the connection was made, she flickered through mistrust, self-reprimanding, utter acceptance, and finally compromised with another question. He knew what she wanted to know; she had just made the connection between her direction and his own, had finally linked Notrh Quadrant with his curt mention of 'home', and despite his first impression of her, she was quick as hell to catch the line between threat and actual danger. However she would word the question itself, what Carolyn wanted to know exactly how dangerous he was. But as quick as he was with analysis, he still didn't really understand her.

"Where _are_ you going?" He caught for a second, like a foot coming down in the dark and finding no step where one was expected. He had been bracing himself for something, something way more than she had actually said, and she almost considered wondering what it was. Was he embarrassed that he had been to prison, that he lived here? Didn't he realize how obvious it was by now? Carolyn was an uncanny judge of character, but it always took a lot to get her to think in terms of events rather than people. She was no simpleton, she just didn't have a curious bone in her body. If it wasn't here and now, how much could it really matter? But meanwhile he had recovered from his relief and was digging into his pocket. His hand emerged with a small scrap of paper, and he handed it to her silently in answer. She smiled at the untidy boy-scrawl, barely visible in the gathering dusk.

North

Higuera st

850, apt 512

"Okay," she said brightly, handing the paper back. Riddick didn't know if that meant what he thought it did, but he supposed he'd figure it out when they got there. He looked down at her, the carefree bounce in her step as she searched the sky for the first star of the evening, and he smiled. Incredible.


	3. III

Wayne was edging towards drunk by the time they arrived. He had been drinking sullenly on the couch since three waiting for Riddick to show. Wayne was a greasy, rat-like boy, although he would probably use the word 'slick' to describe himself. Nobody knew his age for sure, no one really cared, including himself. He was one of those that had the temperament to be imprisoned for life, but was just smart enough or lucky enough to stay below the radar. He was almost dozing when the rusting door grated open, pushed by a very large tanned arm. But it was not that arm's body that entered first…

--

Now maybe Carolyn was a space cadet at times, but the sight of the building bought Riddick another scared questioning look from her.

"_This _is 'home'?" She had figured by his build that he was a felon and so he probably wouldn't have much, but she wasn't sure if her trust for this almost complete stranger was strong enough to support the decision to walk into this building with him. What if she was wrong, what if something happened? She had nowhere to run to, and this guy was the only thing between her and running this gauntlet alone. He didn't meet her eyes, it looked like he was scanning the building. His fierce I'm-concentrating face didn't change, but he shrugged in answer. 'I guess so,' the motion said, 'never been here myself. It should be okay, though, doesn't look like anything I can't handle.' Apparently satisfied with his appraisal, he started towards the door. She scowled at his back in apprehension, but adjusted her hold on her bag and followed after him.

At the door of 512, he turned towards her. He was still really intense, but his eyes seemed concerned for her. She smiled reassuringly, honestly relieved now. He was honest, it was a bad place, but he didn't want her to be hurt. He nodded—a decision made, a sense of assurance found—and started back to face the door. Carolyn marveled suddenly about how much sense just their shared look made. It was like a whole conversation, a downward tilt of his eyebrows and her returning smile. She hoped it wasn't just a moment. It would be nice to have that kind of trust with someone. With him.

Riddick wrenched the knob and pushed the grating door open, revealing a just as squalid apartment inside. He didn't go in, but stood aside for her to enter ahead of him. _How cute,_ Carolyn thought, even though it meant that she would have to actually walk into this cage. She ducked under his arm into the grey light of Wayne's place.

--

Riddick was doubtful of the girl's trust in him surviving this encounter, but he didn't have much choice; he brought her into North Quadrant, and he wasn't going to leave her alone here at night. Riddick got as far as the door to the apartment, but he started to have second thoughts about how wise it was to bring her among these people. He looked intently into her face, trying to find the right words to explain that this was a bad idea, but she just smiled. 'It's okay,' her eyes told him, 'I trust you. We'll be fine.'

No science can explain young chemistry, and no science should. If asked why he did anything from that moment on, he Riddick start out making sense and slide slowly to nonsense trying to describe the wordless understanding that could… You know, this is not the point. The point is them, Riddick and Carolyn, in the dark, grey hall on the fifth floor of a disaster waiting to happen.

_But there's no choice,_ Riddick thought in his usual lightning-fast planning mind. _I'd keep going, but Carolyn's tiring. And there aren't any hotels around, it's gotta be here._ The back of his mind caught eagerly on the idea, for more reasons than one, but he regretfully dismissed it. There was no way to get one, it's not really something one can just 'jack and fly off with. No choice. He nodded determinedly and opened the door to the doom of the only chance he ever really had.

- -

- -

Well? What do y'all think? I'd love to hear your opinion, and of course, any point you think I can improve on, don't hesitate. Honesty is more admirable than kindness, so come on, raise a loser's self-esteem and review.


	4. IV

It has been absolutely forever since I've updated this story, but I've been writing the whole time, just hadn't managed to put it up. So finally, here's the next installation, and some more will be up soon, so don't go forgetting about me.

(No, I haven't somehow managed to buy Riddick since I started this story)

- -

- -

Wayne snapped awake at the sound of his rusting door grating open, pushed by a very large and very welcome tanned arm. But it was not that arm's body that entered first… Ducking pristinely through the doorway was the sweetest little thing he had ever laid eyes on. Hot-fuckin'-damn, man, he didn't know who told Riddick about the party tonight or where he picked up this new girl, but that was what he would call _rewarding hospitality_! He hauled himself from the couch and eagerly advanced.

"Hey baby, my name's-"and out of fucking nowhere-

- -

Riddick's eyes followed her inside before he moved himself. Jesus, just to run his fingers through that hair… He shut his eyes and smiled at the thought. Riddick stepped through and turned his back to her to force the door closed.

Riddick's animal mind, lulled as it had been by her words and her scent, snapped into action at the sound of another male's voice. Not just the voice, the _tone_. Threat. Like the strike of a snake, Riddick whirled and slammed the threat into the wall behind it. For half a second everything paused in shock, and Riddick had time to wonder what her face must look like behind his shoulder, and how long it would take her to reach the door and run. Wayne recovered first, however, and kicked out at Riddick's knee, indignant but still playful.

"What the fuck, Riddick-"

In the rush, Riddick had thankfully missed the throat and had Wayne pinned upright by his jaw. He shifted his hand under Wayne's chin and began to slide his weight slowly up the wall. Playfulness withered at the idea of strangulation, and suddenly Wayne began to panic, desperately trying to wrench Riddick's hand away. When Riddick had the boy's wide eyes level with his own, he answered.

"Don't fuck with the girl." He snarled, and dropped him unceremoniously to the floor.

Riddick looked to Carolyn, who was watching Wayne caugh and sputter on the floor, shock written all over her face. His movement drew her eyes from the scene to him, but she didn't flinch from him like he expected. She raised her eyes to meet his, and he wanted to explain himself, he did, but there just weren't any words. It was. It had happened. The only thing that hadn't yet was her reaction. For a long, long second, Carrie just stared her empty eyes through him. Finally it seemed to melt away, and her eyes began to focus. She didn't quite smile, but er eyes softened for him and she spoke.

"Excessive?" Carolyn bantered playfully while she tried to figure out how much this had changed things. She watched relief flood him as she searched herself for her reaction. _Am I scared, even? Shouldn't I be? Jesus, two inches down and he'd've crushed his throat. He didn't even look, he just struck. But he struck for me, didn't he? He defended me._

Carolyn decided that it really didn't change anything. She had already sensed his violence and that it wasn't dangerous to her, and this just confirmed it. And Riddick had only behaved as all animals and convicts do: being an alpha male and new, he had immediately demonstrated his superiority to the current power so he'd only have prove it once, and began to set his own rules. And under those rules, she was safe.

"Yeah, maybe a little extreme…" Riddick answered, laughing out of sheer overwhelming relief and looking uncharacteristically awkwardly down at his boots. Carrie's smile grew sweeter and more thoughtful, like she was smiling at _him_ rather than just giving him the expression she knew he wanted. Whatever it was, his problem with Wayne wasn't over, he had to confirm his authority, make sure he understood whose will was dominant here.

For a second Riddick's relief had made him look downright normal, like a teenage boy would look if he'd never had to worry about brute survival. Carrie was almost disappointed to hear Riddick curtly inform the coughing figure stumbling for the couch that his bedroom had been taken. That brutality of him, it wasn't all there was. Carolyn realized that she had caught a glimpse of the boy Riddick could have been. _And maybe still could be, _she thought to herself, as she followed him around the corner and through another door.

'Bedroom' was a generous title; it only resembled one in the crudest sense. A dirty one person mattress lay haphazardly in the back right corner with its pile of blanket, but there was no other furniture. The walls and littered floor spoke of infrequent cleaning at best, but it gave the impression somehow that the owner was actually proud of the cleanliness of his living space.

Carolyn stopped short and was forced to take a step back, as Riddick unexpectedly turned and pushed the door closed behind them over her shoulder. He knew he wasn't about to attack her, but with her back to the wall, her body couldn't help but tense at the extremely fresh memory called up by this position. He rested his weight there and hung his head in thought, searching for the words.

"So you go by Riddick?" she stalled for him. Funny, but in their whole walk, she hadn't realized that she had never actually addressed him. Probably a good thing, since she would have addressed him wrong.

"Yeah…" It was hard to concentrate this close to her smell, but he was too deep in thought to consider anything except what he meant to say. He couldn't put this off any more. Suddenly he recognized the stiff, nervous set of her shoulders, and he hurriedly dropped his arm and gave her a half-step back. "Look, Carrie-"

"I figured you were from the prison," she interrupted him thoughtfully, and he was struck silent by sheer surprise. "And by the way you interact you probably knew him there." And she raised her eyes sadly to his; he was half-mouthing something in confused, incredulous explanation. "But you don't like the idea of me knowing that, and you don't want me around his type. And _that's _why I don't care about the other stuff. It doesn't matter, Riddick. You're…" She sifted for the word, the image that would-

Riddick couldn't take anymore. What he thought was disappointment in her eyes was serenity, total acceptance, and their lips met before he knew he had acted. He heard her back thump softly against the door, and his hands buried themselves in her silken hair. She twitched away in surprise, but he felt her apprehension melt under him. _(you're on shaky ground already, Riddick, back off while you're ahead)_ His tongue just tasted her bottom lip, and completely of their own accord, Riddick's hands withdrew from her hair and reached for her waist as he- _(for fuck's sake, stop!)_

With huge effort Riddick stepped back, using the door to physically push himself away. He looked into her face, carefully not-panting. She was just so… He felt himself being drawn back to her, but he couldn't risk scaring her. Riddick backed himself away before he could lose control again. _Guess that's what people mean by a conscience._ By the distance in front of him, Riddick figured he was pretty much as far across the little room as he was going to get. _Not like you'll look like an idiot all the way over here or anything, Rick, _he lectured himself. _But Jesus, that… That angel, stands there in utter trust of _me_. That's my angel. _He licked his lips, suddenly desperate again for the taste of her.

For a second more Carolyn kept her eyes shut, and she giggled happily.

"You're welcome."

- -

So? Tell me what you think! Good or bad, be completely honest, any and all feedback is invited.


	5. V

Okay, next installment. Not too confident about this one, though, so please, if you see something that I've missed, feel absolutely free. I love constructive criticism. As usual, I don't own Riddick, but other than that it's mine.

- -

- -

When Carolyn finally opened her eyes, Riddick was lowering himself to sit heavily at one of the few clear spots of floor, against the opposite wall. She couldn't help but raise her eyebrows at him. _Moodswing much? _That had to be the most intense display of changing mood she'd ever seen, and it cast a deep shadow of doubt over how far she could trust this guy's stability. Odd though, she hadn't heard a thing and he had made it all the way back there. Not liking the awkwardness of their distance, she daintily approached.

Richard Riddick will one day be known as the most notorious convict in the system, a sociopath whose heartless mercury eyes will glare from the screens of bounty notices everywhere. But in this moment he's just a young man, unstable, perhaps, but still with one foot in humanity. He is now the very picture of his own soul, forbidding in his dark clothes and armed to the teeth, but in truth just unbearably alone, and hiding in an empty room where no one's ever bothered to look for him. Carrie lowers herself delicately to her knees, then to sit on her feet before him, and to Riddick she almost glows. Her pure sincerity in a room such as this makes her nearly shimmer in contrast, in a way that makes the mind flit through ideas of nymphs or angels, like she was a kind of spirit here to visit this darkened soul and try to draw him out into the light.

Carolyn sat and regarded Riddick for a moment. His army jacket was open, allowing just a glimpse of his well-muscled shoulders and chest under the black wifebeater. She could see how people could be very intimidated by him, except that at this moment, his soul shone through his careful costume—scarred, but _there, _and no less honest for all of it. And just like that, her doubts were gone. It was really okay now. She was being cared for.

"How'd you know?"

Carrie, still glowing in general and on top of that couldn't help but be amused by the defeated expression on Riddick's face. "Your shoulders." She answered softly. "Only two reasons to have an upper body like that, but athletes don't walk like you do. You look prepared to whip out a shiv at a half-moment's notice. But the stillness of your shoulders when you walk says you make yourself terrifying to avoid trouble. Says you're honest."

He just stared. What can you say to something like that?

Moments like this only stretch so far before they break or develop into something more, and Riddick couldn't stand the risk of allowing anything more to happen, of ruining it all. He looked to the door over Carrie's shoulder, anything to avoid her face, the blood that had rushed to her lips and her cheeks, the faint spray of freckles under her sweet almond eyes.

"'You okay here?" A shadow of something calculating and fierce passed over his face, and Carrie knew that in his mind Riddick had already thrown somebody across the room for 'fucking with' her. She smiled, nodding her head 'of course'.

"Look, I won't forbid you anything, but.." He almost-sighed, visibly trying to find a way around asking something of her. But she understood fine.

"It's fine, I'll won't go out there." Carrie assured him perkily. It took her a moment, but the connotation of his worry finally hit her and she started looking a little less sure of herself. "Are you leaving?" She asked with faltering confidence, ducking her head to meet his lowered eyes.

"'Have to. We can leave here in the morning." Riddick stood easily, but couldn't yet bring himself to move. Carrie's hands still sat serenely on her knees and her light doe's eyes followed him solemnly. Riddick visibly wrestled with himself, torn completely between his need to go and desire to stay. And what if something happened to her? Somebody hyped on mindfrag while he's out, forgets they're mortal and comes in here, and what kind of chance does she have? He could give her a knife or something, but that does no good if she lacks the skill or the heart to do anything with it.

Carolyn reached out to his leg reassuringly, understanding in some vague wordless way that he needed a reminder of her as a person.

"If it's what you have to do, go. I'll be fine." She was sure of no such thing, but if he had to go, she had to deal with that. He had already given her a place to sleep tonight, and she couldn't ask him for more. Riddick nodded reluctantly, but he couldn't help but smile at her toughness.

"Don't wait up, girl," Riddick told her in a sudden fluent tender moment. "I'll be late." And then, completely silently, he was gone.

Carolyn sat still a moment more, just looking over her shoulder at the place she'd lost sight of him. Sighing lightly, she dug through her mail bag for her diary.

- -

- -

"The man o' the fuckin' hour, gennlemen, our certified strongman!" Wayne's obviously drunk voice announced as Riddick emerged back into the living room. Apparently he had made some calls, because the room was full of several young men in green-black leather vests matching Wayne's own. Riddick couldn't help but laugh inwardly. _Of course they have matching uniforms. They probably have some catchy gang name stitched to the back, the amateurs_Wayne always was stupid, but the kid had connections. He knew everybody. Riddick allowed himself to be gestured into the only chair, nestled in the back corner of the room. It might have matched the couch once, but it appeared to have been soaked in bleach at some point. As if that didn't make it just scream the words 'crime scene'.

Another green-vested punk emerged from the kitchen laden with beer, and in the slight chaos of distributing the round, Riddick scanned the crew. There was no doubt Wayne was going to try to enlist his help with some fight or another, but that wasn't really his reason. It was automatic, almost, to size up every possible opponent, adding significant factors into the equation of possible courses of action. Most were younger, probably didn't even have their names in the system, but a couple looked like genuine fighters close to graduating this baby gang. One with spiked brown hair had some serious muscle on him, but it was the blond with the scarred face he was most wary of. He had a kind of wiry strength and the bloodshot eyes of frequent frag use. This one actually noticed Riddick's eyes on him and gave him a cocky challenging smile, coldly proud of being singled out as the most trouble.

Most of the now officially dubbed 'punks' had settled into their own circle of conversation, but Wayne broke from the herd and stumbled drunkenly towards Riddick. He sat clumsily on an upside-down crate at Riddick's side and leaned conspiratorially over the arm of the chair.

"One of th' Apaches fucked with Johnny last night, man, we're gonna invade their turf." He was almost slobberingly drunk. His alcohol breath fogged into Riddick's unusually sensitive nostrils, and Riddick's hand snuck into his pocket while he favored Wayne with an almost interested look. The hand came out with a syringe full of clear liquid, a very useful little trinket, which he quietly injected into Wayne's arm while his attention was elsewhere.

Wayne was just getting Riddick interested in helping them out when he suddenly stabbed him in the fuckin arm. Wayne ripped his arm away in surprise and pain, yelling something incoherent and indignant. He had time to give form to half a thought that this was the second time this asshole has attacked him and maybe it wasn't worth it to- Then he realized what it was that Riddick had put in his arm.

"Oh you suck." And then it hit him, like his whole mind was on fire. Wayne's hands pressed to the sides of his head and slammed his eyes shut against the pain. Straight Shot, burns off alien substances in the body almost instantly. It was a handy thing to have, it can kill poisons, avoid overdosing, or, in this case, skip from happily wasted straight to hangover. As he watched Wayne grit his teeth against the cry of pain he couldn't control, Riddick wondered, if they could make a chemical like this, why they couldn't figure one out that didn't hurt so blasted much. After a few seconds the initial pain receded, leaving Wayne with a thumping headache.

"What did you do that for!" Wayne glared at Riddick through the sluggish muffled pain in his head. Riddick only shrugged, as if to say both 'it was for your own good' and 'what are you going to do about it'. Riddick could have admitted to a cold kind of vengeful satisfaction in inflicting sobriety on him, but made an almost conscious decision not to. Besides doing Wayne a favor by increasing his usefulness to himself, Riddick needed his mind working straight. He needed information.


	6. VI

Yay, no more college applications!!! I know I'm basically the slowest person on Earth, but this part of it is taking a little maneuvering to get through. So enjoy, and as always if you have any feedback or suggestions for improvement, they're hugely welcome. And again, I still don't own Riddick.

- -

Riddick leaned his back against the cold alleyway wall, thinking. He wasn't particularly a creature of the night, not yet, but it offered a sense of peace to his tired senses. There was a calmness of night, a paradoxical feeling of safety in abandoned pitch-black corners like this one, like one could just disappear and the world would let you go, just forget about you and you'd never have to deal with their scrutiny again. He never could take too much of people. In order to keep a full eye on everything going on, no time or effort was left over to really consider the bigger picture, and that was how things got out of control. There's only so long one can just react to the world without the world finally outwitting you. It's like playing chess with checker pieces. Makes you blind.

So Riddick relished the cold of the desert night, leaned against the back wall of a dead end alley, and considered. He had gone through all the trouble of Straightening Wayne out because he'd needed a quick connection. Not many of his own acquaintances were out in society, and Carrie brought a new urgency to the standard steps of a post-prison disappearing act. He'd needed a chop-doctor, of course, to take the numbers off his forearm and the tracking chip out of his shoulder. But this was far from the most delicate of the night's errands.

Riddick had really considered just ditching his parole connection. It complicated the hell out of things to check in with some BS authority figure. The whole program was a joke, really. Besides being inconvenient, it was useless. Nobody cared about the people, hell, they hadn't batted an eye at his form; residence—none, monetary assets—none, whatever, just call this number within fifty hours and don't fuck up again. But it was wisest to raise as few red flags as were really necessary. His memory scanned over the conversation.

- -

"_Yeah, what?" The man sounded half asleep._

"_43852, Richard Riddick, checking in."_

"_Oh, right." There was a skeletal click of something being set on a metal table, most likely a vidscreen. His complete disinterest suggested the man was accustomed to doing different, more interesting things rather than someone who's spent too much of his life on this menial task. (Sounds like they've skipped the middle man and assigned me a merc) Riddick thought to himself, revising his observations to the possibility of a downer in the slur of his voice and a light gauge on the table. "So? What've you been doing." It was a statement rather than a question._

"_Living with a friend North of Farson City, arranging for a job in the silver mines. I've had me a change of heart, gonna be a law-abiding citizen from now on."_

_A sarcastic laugh. "Yeah, I'm sure." There was a heavy, almost ridiculous silence. "Alright, this call has to be…" He checked either a clock or his instructions. "Ten minutes. So, got laid yet?"_

"_Mind your own, merc," Riddick snarled, instantly incensed. (_Mistake,) he would think later behind half-lidded eyes in the darkness of the alley.

"_Is that a No? Tsk, tsk, two days and still none? That's gotta be a record for teenage body-building fuckups like you." And he just kept pushing, needling him. Guys like this get a gig as PO just so they can get dibs at the first opportunity to collect on his arrest again. Riddick knew it, but tied to the phone by law, he was forced to listen. "Unless Kodiare turned you gay… You're not calling from Marina Street, are you? What was his name, huh? Brian?"_

"_Carolyn, fucker" Riddick snarled with a certain immature sense of satisfaction at proving him wrong._

"_Ahh… Already a serious girl? Bad idea, man. Your life the way it is, you're gonna be a death sentence on the poor-"_

"_Back off!" Riddick cut him off. He was insecure enough without malicious ribbing from this-_

"_See if I'm not right. I've read your file, and you're bad fuckin luck. You'll ruin her l-"_

_Riddick quickly hung up, chest pumping with shivering rage. _

_- -_

Overall, Riddick thought looking back, not good. He shouldn't have let him know about Carrie, that was a stupid mistake. Too many people were getting pieces of the truth, soon enough the pieces would collect and someone would put them together. She could be listed missing, and the last thing either of them needed was a pack of hounds after them for kidnapping. The avenue for escape was narrow enough without that. The animal behind his eyes wanted to get out of here, _do_ something, vent some of-

No. He forced himself to stay still, willing his heart rate to slow. Riddick's eyes drifted slowly closed as he deliberately turned his mind to calmer thoughts. Carrie… That thick, dark hair, her slim beautiful form. Her terrifying intuition and the perfect forgiving smile that followed. The way-

Riddick opened his eyes and raised his head in a slow, dangerous motion. _The way she twitches away when someone touches her. The barely registered look of fear in her eyes, in the doorway when Wayne put his arm around her. _A slow, black rage filled his eyes and his hands at the thought, and suddenly it all fit. Her happy surprise at the slightest courtesy, how she didn't want to talk about where she came from, her complete un-reaction to his sudden violence.

A siren screamed down the street ten feet away, and by pure reflex the delinquent shrank back deeper into the shadows. Suddenly Riddick's mind was snapped back in the present, and he realized with some kind of horror that he had left Carolyn alone in that apartment longer than was necessary. He started back at a fast but steady lope as he checked his watch. It was-

"What?" Riddick cursed under his breath. He thought to himself incredulously, _27:50? Christ, no wonder there was enough time for everything, there's over 27 hours to the day. How could you not _notice Riddick pushed himself to a run, violently cursing himself every step of the way.

- -


	7. VII

The door of the darkened room opened, forming a wide bar of light over the bare concrete floor. Across the floor the huge distorted shadow of the figure in the door paused, as if drawing in the feel of the room before entering. The figure stiffened, an unconscious feral gesture like an animal who has caught the scent of danger, and there was an almost inaudible gasp of a man caught off guard by trouble. Something was wrong.

The door was not the only source of light in the room. Propped on a balled-up blanket at the head of the sheetless mattress was a vid-screen, giving off just enough glow to make it clear that the bed was otherwise empty. She was gone.

Gone! Riddick began to panic. He walked closer to the empty bed, not even aware of what he was doing. His mind was running elsewhere, practically scurrying for the possibilities of what had happened and what to do now. He had thought of her coming to harm while he was gone, of course he had, but not that she would simply disappear. How or why could someone have taken her? There were no signs of it, the room was actually more ordered than when he had left. Had she walked out on him herself, after being given time to think had decided that he wasn't worth the risk? Christ, he had been gone forever, she could be anywhere, he'd never find her. This planet was huge and the cities sprawled in confusing, unplanned webs of roads. What if she was lost, what if she was in trouble, what if he found her and she laughed at him and told him to go away? But all of her stuff was still here, what is going _on_?

"_did you know that there's a fire escape outside that window? -C_"

Riddick had come close enough to read the typed words across the top of the screen. His heart kept pounding panic into his bloodstream, but the semi-cryptic message slowly sunk in. She was on the roof.

Riddick went for the only window, along the wall opposite the door. It was shut, but there was no other explanation. Riddick let out a visible sigh of relief; it was okay, there were the stairs outside, and there were the clean smudges of her slim white hands. Riddick made to rip the window open and find her, but forcibly stopped himself. He needed to calm down. He slowed his breathing and his mind, assuring himself that things don't always go wrong. And there was no reason to freak her out with his paranoia. When he had himself under control, Riddick quietly opened the window and squeezed himself through.

It was on the second flight up that Riddick's control began to slip. For a second staring at the empty bed, thoughtfully straightened and no longer surrounded by discarded beer cans, Riddick could see her very clearly: alone under a flickering streetlight, lying very still against the wall in the all too familiar semi-fetal position of someone kicked hard in the stomach. And a second is long enough for ideas like that to set in. Riddick began to run up the stairs, his mind going on to imagine her dirty scraped fingers broken under boot heels and the tear tracks that cut through the city dust on her face, the echoes of her unanswered pleas for help. And that wasn't the worst that could happen, no, not at all… With a deep-throated cry of exertion and fury, Riddick simply slammed his shoulder full force into the access door and-

And there she was, bundled in a blanket on the bare concrete roof. It looked like the sound had startled her awake, she had been laying on her side, but one arm was now pushing her upper body upright and into the wall behind her. For a second Riddick didn't take breath while sheer relief washed over him like warm water. But in that second, as the adrenalin drained from his body, Riddick discovered that his shoulder hurt, and he was exhausted.

"Where've you been?" Riddick looked up from his shoes to find that Carrie had recovered from her fright. He couldn't help but note, she woke fast. He shrugged his shoulders and broke eye contact; he didn't want to think of a lie, but could think of nothing else to say.

"You haven't slept, have you." He shrugged again, but not in an avoiding way. It was as if he had shrugged off the idea of sleep, not the question itself. He watched her as she sat up and adjusted the blanket round her shoulders.

"'you here all night?" He asked. Already smiling at her imitation, Carrie shrugged. Riddick couldn't decide whether insomnia or sleeping on a roof was stranger behavior, but she had accepted his non-answer, he had to accept hers.

Not precisely thinking on a conscious level, Carrie reached her hand out to him, palm down, in silent invitation and the universal, childlike gesture of 'I want'. Riddick was more than happy to break the awkward moment and oblige.

Feeling rather unsure of himself once there, Riddick reached out and brushed her skin from the smooth depression of her palm to the tips of her fingers. It was apparently the wrong answer, and Carrie took it as some kind of rejection. She drew her arm back into the folds of blanket and bundled it in closer around her, already shivering from the lost heat.

What her invitation hadn't managed to draw out of him, that small shiver compelled beyond any resistance. Riddick lowered himself to sit at her side, turning his upper body for her to back to lean against his chest. He wrapped his arms around her to pull her closer and eliminate the cold air between them, but she twitched away almost unconsciously. Immediately Riddick could have kicked himself. Hard. Two seconds after freaking out he had managed to forget why he had rushed back to her in the first place. But anger at his own tactlessness was soon dwarfed by remembered rage over what he had figured out.

"Who did it?" Riddick rumbled, fury evident in every word. "Who hurt you?" He tried to meet her eyes from over her shoulder, but Carrie only looked at the floor.

"No…" In Riddick's forward-tumbling fighting mindset, he almost snapped back with 'No who' before he registered that No is not, in fact, a name. She stopped him in his tracks; of all possible answers in the world, that had to be the one he never expected back.

"'No'?" It was more than a mental stumble, it was as if she had answered 'blue fish'. How could you just say no?

"No," she answered with a little more conviction, taking one of his hands in both of her own, exploring it with her fingers. His knuckles had been broken open so often that the scars were indiscernible from each other, and Riddick felt her fingers blindly find the deep scar that ran straight across his palm. She turned his hand over to look, and found the corresponding scars across his fingers. It had been his first hand-to-knife fight, and he had inexpertly grabbed the blade to wrench it away. It had worked, but he would carry the mark of it all his life. "It's over, and I don't want to talk about it. You didn't tell me about your past." He considered reminding her that he would have if she hadn't've mind-read him first, but thought maybe this was not the time to argue. "Anyway, it's today now…" She said out into the skyline. And he realized it _was_ day, a silver dawn was creeping slowly up the sky.

"…and you'd probably want to go back there and hurt him back" she added with a restored smile in her voice.

"Exactly.." He growled darkly, and Carrie laughed. She lifted Riddick's cold, harsh hand to her face and kissed the palm, and as she lowered it back to her lap, Riddick curled his fingers around the gift, as if the cold of the silver dawn would steal it from him if given half a chance. Riddick had always believed in fate as he believed in God; grudgingly, proudly, and only after being faced with an overabundance of proof. But to be taken from the chaos and rage of prison and so suddenly given this beautiful peace and purpose was incomprehensible. And for probably the first time in the young man's life, he thanked fate and God and the world. _This is enough, _he thought, _just one perfect morning. This is enough._

If only nobody had heard him. God, if only.

-

Sadly, guys, this story is officially abandoned. Although I know the ending I had wanted, I've lost the sense of how to get there. But I am working on a new Riddick Jack fic, and it should refer back to the untold segments of this story later. But I'm sorry, I guess this story sat too long in my head, and kinda died off.

-J


End file.
